I’m sad, guys. I don’t know why I’m sad now. I just know that I’m grieving my dad HARD right now. I know grief comes in waves. I think partly that this is because I’m in a period of real transition now that I’ve closed the paint and sip studio and things have stalled with the next adventure. Insecurity in my life isn’t helping. I think it’s also because it’s the time of year that I tend to get a depression flare. It happens just about every year around this time: my depression kicks it up a notch and my brain starts telling me I’m a giant loser and a miserable person who makes terrible, cowardly choices, and the future is very, very bleak. Again, insecurity in my life isn’t helping.

I’ve been having nightmares about my dad again. I say “nightmares,” but they’re not really scary – just really, really sad. I’ve woken up crying several times. And my dreams always share one feature: he always has dementia. He’ll be in different stages, but he’s never just him. In a dream a couple days ago, I was dancing to “Come Rain or Come Shine” with him, and for a split second, he was dancing and interacting with me like he was normal and healthy, and I thought, “This is a dream, but it’s a fantastic dream. I’ve got to keep this going.” I very rarely am aware that I’m dreaming, but I knew it this time and I was desperate for it to continue. And then, in an instant, he changed and I kept grabbing his arms and trying to force him and my dream to come back. I woke up so bloody angry that I couldn’t even remember him as my fully functioning father in a dream. Why can’t I think of him that way? Why is it always him in some stage of dementia?

Two nights ago, I had a flashback. I was feeling really tired and a little nauseated and lay down, and suddenly I was convinced that I was crumpled up, crying, in the hallway outside of the room where my dad was dying. I could hear the oxygen machine going and smell the nursing home stink. I could feel the carpet underneath me and the wallpaper at my back. PTSD, anyone? Ugh. I just want to forget those final three, pain-filled days.

So yeah, it’s been a hard couple weeks. And Wednesday is my 40th birthday. How can I celebrate it without including my dad? How can he not be here for it? He’s supposed to be here for it. I miss him so damn much all the damn time.

But there’s nothing I can do about it. And since I’m in a depressive cycle, I need to focus on the good things. I’ll share one with you. This is the pit I discovered when I cut open an avocado for lunch today:

How cool is that? It looks like a tree. Or Audrey II (there was that total eclipse of the sun a little while back…). Or brains. There is an excellent possibility that I chased the cats around the house with it chanting, “braaaaaaaains.” I may have also tried to chase S around the house with it and he may have taken it from me and thrown it out when I wouldn’t stop. It may also have attracted fruit flies and I may also being currently trying to get them drunk/kill them on cheap white wine and dish soap. Hey, it’s not the worst way to go.

Here’s how I know that my heart’s blisters are starting to heal a little bit. Last night, I had a dream that my dad wasn’t in. My husband, my mom and I were in a woodworking studio (no idea why) and we were trying to figure out where to eat dinner. We all knew that my dad was dead, and we were just doing the normal thing of figuring out where the three of us wanted to go. That’s it. So simple, but it’s the first night in a long time that my dad hasn’t been present in the dream with some stage of dementia. He was in our thoughts, but just as a reality of someone who used to be with us but no longer was. It felt so normal, and I woke up comforted.

My mom and I are preparing for a trip together. Over the last year of Dad’s life, we agreed that neither of us should go out of the country because more emergencies were arising with him. My parents had always said they’d travel when they both retired, but Dad got dementia before that could happen. But Mom still wants to see the world. She has done a couple of those Viking River Cruises, and really enjoyed them, but the women who had gone with her no longer feel capable of traveling. A deal popped up that was basically a 2-for-1 deal, so she asked if I’d like to go with her (on her dime, no less). It’s the slowest time of year at the studio, we don’t need to be nearby for Dad anymore, so there was really nothing to stop me from going. So on Saturday, we’re off to cruise the Danube. I’ll likely be the youngest person on the boat, so I plan on pretending I’m a wealthy retiree. I’m considering getting a top hat and a monocle.

While seeing cities I’ve never been to excites me, what I’m most looking forward to is making new, happy memories with my mom. I’m looking forward to spending time with her away from the city where every building, restaurant, tree, or person, reminds me of my dad. We’ll get to be together, exploring, seeking out joy in this mad world of ours. We’ll be moving past just supporting each other as co-caregivers, to celebrating our friendship.

I think this trip is part of what caused that dream. It’s starting to feel more normal that my dad is no longer here physically. It still hurts like hell. The blisters on my heart are still there, and they refill periodically and at the strangest of moments, but I feel like maybe there are fewer of them. I feel like we are creeping toward normalcy.